Five on the high wall, and four on the low;
Big Kings and Little Kings, Brown Bears and Black,
All of them waiting till John comes back.
Some think that John boy is lost in the wood,
Some say he couldn’t be, some say he could.
Some think that John boy hides on the hill;
Some say he won’t come back, some say he will.
High was the sun, when John went away…
Here they’ve been waiting all through the day;
Big Bears and Little Bears, White Kings and Black
All of them waiting till John comes back
Lords of the Nursery looked down the hill,
Some saw the sheep-fold, some saw the mill;
Some saw the roofs of the little grey town…
And their shadows grew long as the sun slipt down
Gold between the poplars an old moon shows
Silver up the star-way the full moon rose;
Silver down the star-way the old moon crept
And one by another, the grey fields slept
Lords of the Nursery their still watch keep
They hear from the sheep-fold the rustle of sheep.
A young bird twitters and hides its head
A little wind suddenly breathes, and is dead
Slowly and slowly dawns the new day…
What’s become of John boy? No one can say.
Some think that John boy is lost on the hill;
Some say he won’t come back, some say he will
What’s become of John boy? Nothing at all,
He played with his skipping rope,
He played with his ball.
He ran after butterflies, blue ones and red;
He did a hundred happy things and then went to bed.
